silvergiftingweek

[silvergiftingweek]

Silvergifting week will happen in two weeks (August 4-10). Can't wait to see what you have made!

Info post

List of prompts

[silvergiftingweek]

One month until Silvergifting Week!

Silvergifting Week will happen again on Tumblr, on August 4-10, 2025.

Info post

List of prompts

Happy creating ❤️

-mod elennalore

[silvergiftingweek]

Two months until Silvergifting week!

They are waiting for you to create something.

Info post

List of prompts

Happy creating!

[silvergiftingweek]

Silvergifting Week 2025 info post

Silvergifting Week will run on Tumblr on August 4-10, 2025.

This is the fourth year of the event for celebrating the relationship between Celebrimbor and Mairon | Sauron | Annatar, the pairing that is often called Silvergifting. The purpose of this event is to encourage people to create fanworks focused on this pairing.

All kinds of fanworks are welcome as long as they are created by you: fan art, fan fiction, headcanon, moodboard, fan craft, playlist, cosplay, meta, etc.

The tag of the event is #silvergiftingweek. When posting, use this tag and/or tag this blog @silvergiftingweek. Please respect general Tumblr content posting rules when participating in this event. Mature and potentially triggering content should be posted under cut.

Silvergifting week started as a Silmarillion fandom event, but the event also welcomes fanworks inspired by the Rings of Power television series. Those can be posted for every prompt, but day 6 is a special day in celebration for the tv series. The entries will be tagged #trop for those who want to curate their experience.

This year, we don't have a separate Alternative Universe | Canon divergence day. You can post alternative universe | canon divergence content for all prompts.

The list of prompts, 2025 edition can be found here.

Happy creating!

-mod @elennalore

[silvergiftingweek]

Silvergifting week – List of Prompts 2025

Day 1 (August 4): First meetings

Either a canon version, or your wildest AU take. What happens next?

Day 2 (August 5): Romance

Them. In a relationship. As spicy or soft as you want them to be. Enjoy!

Day 3 (August 6): Tension

Emotional stress or conflict in their relationship. Perhaps it is mutual pining, or growing suspicion? Or perhaps they are rivals? You decide.

Day 4 (August 7): Threesomes

Them - and someone else. This prompt can be used either for romantic or gen relationships.

Day 5 (August 8): Hurt/comfort and angst

Silvergifting week would not be complete without a healthy dose of hurt/comfort and angst. Comfort is optional.

Day 6 (August 9): Rings of Power

Today's prompt can be used in two ways. It is either the Rings itself, or Silvergifting inspired by the RoP television series.

Day 7 (August 10): Second chances

They deserve that, don't they? Post-canon, new beginnings.

These prompts are totally optional, they are just for inspiration. Late entries are always welcome.

This year, we don't have a separate Alternative Universe | Canon divergence day. You can post AU content for any prompt.

Silvergifting week started as a Silmarillion fandom event, but the event also welcomes fanworks inspired by the Rings of Power television series. Those can be posted for every prompt, but day 6 is a special day in celebration for the tv series. The entries will be tagged #trop for those who want to curate their experience.

[silvergiftingweek]

Silvergifting Week will run August 4-10, 2025. The prompts for the event will be posted on this blog very soon!

[silvergiftingweek]

Silvergifting Week will be running again this year, August 4-10, 2025. More info will follow later.

[silvergiftingweek]

Darkness

[silvergiftingweek]

Day 7: Post-canon

New beginning. Valinor. Reconciliation. Recovery. Remembering the past.

@silvergiftingweek

__________________

Non-betaed fic under cut, will edit post sometime later, probably will post to AO3 later as well.

Unfortunately due to uni I haven't been able to participate in this as much as I would have liked.

Hope you'll enjoy my work!

Warnings: Allusion to violence but mostly vague? Tell me if you think i ought to add another.

How odd it was, that he kept the scar across his sternum. 

It was an oblong starburst shape, pink skin puckered and occasionally white, other scars long and thin laid on top. It was the size of a hand, stretching and claiming. 

Celebrimbir had purposefully kept all his scars before Sauron’s betrayal, even the ones he gained during his reign as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil. All the burns from forge accidents, the fumbling of a knife or two, the accidental broken bones or burns or stray exploding metal from experiments gone wrong. 

It all held memory, memory of the bad, the good, of the naive and foolish or the learned and understanding. 

He couldn’t wear jewllery, at least, not the amount he once wore as proud lord of the golden city, teeming with promises of more. Certainly no rings, too many uncertain memories and broken promises and trust. Stone he wore proudly as if it was some great rare jewel to the bafflement of everyone outside of previous mebers of Ost-in-Edhil. Even his own family could not fully understand his care and dedication for the art of stones. 

It meant something to him that they didn’t question his choices. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the emotions were but it was somewhere in the range of appreciation and a weary understanding. 

They didn’t treat him as a child anymore, young and tagging along their adventures with short stubby legs, wide eyed and all innocence. They didn’t treat him as a young child or even a young adult, certain in his skills and voice. They never knew him as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil, beloved by all that dwelt within her once sturdy walls. The lord that hosted and welcomed all of any kind, elf, dwarf, human and other. 

The problem with that was they didn’t know how to treat him at all. 

They loved him, Celebrimbor had no doubt, but the years had gone by, stretching their already tenuous bonds. But it hurt him to see the heistance in their hugs, their kisses and affection. Even grandmother Nerdanel hesitated in hugging him, helping him braid his hair, and even the simple clap on the back or shoulder. 

Of all the things he missed of Sauron it was the easy touch and affection that flowed between them. 

Valinor, for all the paradise it was with no danger and plenty of things to do, people to talk with, crafts to learn and create, was stifling. It was like the whole world walked on eggshells when he entered, even old acquaintances were overly gentle and eager to please. Or rather they were the ones most akward. Very few of Ost-in-Edhil’s people could meet him eye to eye and talk as they once had. Even those within his venerated Gwaith-i-mirdain had doubts. Only Ithril, Kazforza and Fingrithil treated him normally. 

Everyone else talked in circles, making leaps and jumps to avoid talking about Ost-in-Edhil, his death and everything in the Second Age to his face. 

It was infuriating. 

It was hurtful and condescending and he deeply, deeply missed Annatar and the conversations they would have, taboo and casual, anything and everything, no thought filtered and halting.

He loved his family he did. Even with the awful deeds they had done, they sought a path forward to atonement, dragging themselves from the sea of blood that bathed them all cleaning themselves with the forgiveness of thise they wrobed and accpeting those who could not. Celebrimbor was proud of them beyond words found in any language, maybe save the one spoken by the Valar. 

“Tyelpe?” His eldest uncle’s voice called softly from the entrance to his bedroom. “Can I come in?”

“I’m alright,” Celebrimbor hastily said, rising to his feet. It took an immense effort to tear his eyes from the mirror, or more accurately the reflection of the scar on his sternum. It was not the largest scar he had kept, not by far really. He wasn’t sure why he kept some of the scars himself, marks from whips and burns from balrogs and that one that came from a furious and heartbroken elf who heated up his sword with the symbol of his house etched onto the pommel and burned it where his heart laid under skin, flesh and bone.

“A silmaril for your thoughts?” Maedhros’ voice was light but concern tinged it. 

“Come in, come in,” Celebrimbor ushered him in, realising he hadn’t actually answered Maedhros. “Nothing important, just thinking of the past.”

That earned him one of Maedhros' very unnerving stares. The one that felt like it looked into one’s feä and judged it. A little like how Manwë and Namo’s gaze had felt. But his uncle judged that Celebrimbor was alright, not lying and not about to have any sort of panic attack or flashback. It had happened a few times. 

With Celebrimbor and pretty much all of their family, save Nerdanel whose worst mood would be an oppressive sort of worry. 

She had not participated nor started the whole kinslaying afterall. 

“You’ve been off for the last couple of days,” Maedhros quietly remarked, looking out of the window, gazing at the setting sun and the garden that they all had built and grown together. It had been healing for his father and uncles, knowing that their hands were not restricted to the mastery of the blade. Feanor merely grumbled about dirt under fingernails which amused them as his work in the forge arguably dirtied them more. 

“You did not flinch nor mourn at Sauron’s defeat, nor did you hesitate in greeting the little Hobbits that have taken residence amongst us,” he continued, “your behaviour after the aforementioned events were predictable, nightmares and regrets dredged up but not wholly destructive to your healing.” 

Celebrimbor kept silent, hands frozen on the back of a chair. Maedhros stood, still gazing out the window. It was the stance he took as a soldier, a general, standing at attention all wound up. Now too, for Ages of habits drove him to. 

“And yet,” his uncle sighed, turning to face him, “here we after all of this, the Fourth Age of Men starting strong and continuing, all of us free and healing, Sauron finally defeated-” His remaining hand came to rest on his stump - “yet still there us something troubling you, something new.”

He turned to face Celebrimbor.

“What is wrong?” Maedhros asked.

Celebrimbor knew the last few days, nay, weeks had him behaving oddly, something making him restless and jumpy despite being perfectly at peace for more than half an Age.

“I-” he started saying before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, are you here by yourself or with the others?”

Maedhros shrugged. 

Sighing, Celebrimbor sprawled across his bed, mussing up the cleaned linen. 

Of course they all elected Maedhros to be the one to ask him. Of course they did.

Silence filled his room.

On one hand, he had no desire to talk today, let alone about the odd presence that perplexed him. On the other, he knew his uncle well; an unending well of patience and a keenness that rivalled Manwë’s eagles. His uncle would wait until Celebrimbor was comfortable to talk, no matter how long it took. A day, a week, maybe even a yen if he needed to. 

He sighed again. 

“There’s… something.” Celebrimbor at last admitted. Frustrated by his inability to give forth direct answers, he gestured angrily at the ceiling. “ I mean, what I meant was-”

He tried to organise his thoughts, to explain the taste lingering in the air, the presence that occasionally brushed past, soft and light like how a cat moves around a person. To explain the smell of ash and regret. To explain it wasn’t a bad smell but relieving in a way. To explain whenever he entered the forge it felt  like home, then a warning, then a deep set regret, then a gentle but hesitant nudge forward, a sort of controlled eagerness. A penance, an acknowledgement. 

To explain the utter soul crushing relief that he was back. 

Back and diminished and suddenly it all made sense.

“Oh,” Celebrimbor exhaled. “Oh.”

He could see in his minds eye how his uncle inclined his head out of confusion, the rustle of clothing as Maedhros adjusted his position and waited for an explanation.

What could Celebrimbor say?

Should he say anything?

The Valar should know. Or maybe they already did? No. No, the presence would be like a grain of sand on the sea shore. Diminshed as such to be on par or even less than a mere elf’s.

He distantly registered his uncle walking out from his room, closing the door with a soft click. Like all the doors in the house, the lock had been refitted so that it could only be locked from the inside and not out. 

Celebrimbor stayed there as Arien fell, and Teleprion replaced her golden light with a silver one. 

The presence never approached him within his room, he realised with a start. Nor when he was together with his family, any one of them. He sat there calcuating and recalcuating the effects of taking ones own soul and using it as a material to be harnessed. 

Theoretically some of the power would be lost in the process of the making. Even more would be at its unmaking, an explosion of sorts but how could you measure whats lost with a material that never had been used as a one in the first place? 

Wpuld it be categorised as a death? Could Ainur die? Or would it be a restructuring rather than a death? However to restructure something, does it not mean a part or whole of the previous would have to ‘die’ in some way? To make space for the changed. 

That led to the Ages debated question of the Ships and Celebrimbor could admit, although rather reluctantly, that he was not suited for those lines of thinking. It usually resulted in a headache.

Whatever reason the remnants of Sauron had in seeking Celebrimbor out, and staying, could only be found with the Dark Lord himself. Or ex-dark lord? The maia certainly hadn’t done anything yet but be arguably helpful and encouraging. He also didn’t think Sauron had any remaining power left, not if he bypassed all of Valinor unnoticed to come to Formenos. 

It was surprisingly easy enough of a decision, to escape from his bedroom through the open window and into the darkened forge; his grandfather had gone to bed after countless hours of needling by his grandmother, his father was away with Celegorm and Ambarussa on a hunting trip recently departed and not due to return in another week or so. Maglor and Caranthir were in Torion, hosted by Elrond and Celebrian for the next few days too, and Maedhros no doubt had gone to bed once he thought that Celebrimbor would stay in bed for the rest of the day and night. He might have rivalled Sauron in cleverness and strategy but with his family, his guard was unconsciously lowered enough.

Celebrimbor didn’t quite like the nagging notion that his father and uncles had decided their presence would hinder his healing and understanding. 

His bare feet were silent as he slipped into the forge, lighting only a single candle and placed in the corner where no light could be seen from outside and no smell of smoke or incense could be detected form inside the house. 

He waited.

First he waited standing, leaning against the wall and looking at the flickering candlelight, watching the shadows dance and twirl in faint light amongst the darkness of the forge. Then he slid down to kneel and meditate, closing his eyes but not his ears. 

After a few minutes and countless breaths, he registered the faintest brush against his feä. He kept steady, keeping his own feä from responding and reaching. Much like a cat, he thought in wry amusement though he allowed none to show on his fana. 

Soon it grew stronger, the barest brushes becoming more persistent and more present. It reminded him of how cats demanded attention, how they took to warm sunlight, fires or presences. He wondered how conscientious the action was on Annatar’s behalf. Sauron’s that is. 

Celebrimbor. 

At last, Celebrimbor thought. He smiled and responded sweetly, Sauron.

A pause and he could feel the other presence debate on what might have been called a tactical retreat. Or, since Celebrimbor was feeling rather ruthless as of now, cowardly flee.

He reached out to the maia and offered up a memory. A recollection of tangled feelings, of grief and mourning for a friend and foe, for longing of the presence of someone who finally, finally he felt harmony with. Who destroyed him as much as brought him to life. 

Sauron shrank from the echoes that stretched between them. A quiet but no less powerful, I’m sorry came forth from the unhoused spirit.

Celebrimbor wandered how many times Sauron had said that before and had genuinely meant it. He wandered how often he himself had longed to hear those words, to hear the acknowledgement that he, the all powerful maia supposedly better than all Elder, was wrong.

Victory tasted like bloodied dirt in his mouth, dry, coopery. Inescapable. 

I love you, Celebrimbor thought.

You loved me, Annatar corrected. 

Eru damned fool, Celebrimbor was going to find a way to give this formless spirit a void-damned fana if it meant he could punch him. 

And now he was wandering about the mechanics that allowed a fana to be operated. He sighed. Of course he would have the strangest and appealingly challenging ideas due to Sauron. 

I do not say things lightly; my choice of tenses was purposeful. Celebrimbor admonished. 

For a long moment he was sure Sauron had fled. 

Then the hint of utter confusion, horror and an unwanted relief touched his feä and he felt deeply, deeply satisfied.

Maybe it might have bordered on smug but he quite rightly deserved to.

Why?

Why not? He countered just to be contrary. 

Sauron snapped back, roiling tension and anger and something that seemed like so much hope it hurt. Tyelperinquar! I ripped and ground our home into the earth, I burnt our people, I tortured you-

Sauron shuddered, regret clear in his tone and feä, alongside a deep, deep longing that matched Celebrimbor’s own. 

Nothing can repair what hurt you have dealt, Celebrimbor remarked sharply, to you or ours. To the countless thralls and orcs that still suffer now. To my family and our friends. He softened. But that does not render what we once had and now could have moot. 

But why would you choose-

“Is it a choice?” Celebrimbor whispered out loud, disturbing the silence that had descended softly onto the forge and house. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to see the candleflame had petered out, the wick still slightly smoldering. 

He sighed, not feeling Sauron’s presence anymore. His back ached and he was cold.

Brilliant red hair caught Arien’s early rays. 

“That wasn’t directed at me, was it.” His eldest uncle remarked sitting crossed legged on the anvil.  

Celebrimbor yelped. 

[silvergiftingweek]

Thank you so much for running SG week and thanks to everyone who participated! I may have been unable to contribute, but snooping around on the blog and checking out people's creations was a lot of fun and I'll be sure to come back and see what I missed🤍

It was a pleasure! And I really admire the creativity of people here, you're super! This blog is a good place to come back to check people's creations. I still have some things on my reading list, too

mod @elennalore

[silvergiftingweek]

Silvergifting Week 2024 is now over. A big ✨thank you✨ for everyone who participating by creating art, fic, photo edit, or fic rec, and everyone who read and viewed, liked and commented and gave kudos to things posted. You made this week special! ✨💖✨

I'm going to check the tag #silvergiftingweek for late entries, too.

And if you're looking for other things to do in the Tolkien/Silm fandom, let me rec a couple of themed weeks happening on Tumblr that might interest you:

Eönwë Week: August 12-18 @eonweweek

Ainur Week: September 1-9 @ainurweek

Imladris Week: September 16-22 @imladrisweek

Silm Smut Week: September 30- October 6 @silmsmutweek

See you around!

-mod @elennalore

[silvergiftingweek]

Day 7: Post-canon

New beginning. Valinor. Reconciliation. Recovery. Remembering the past.

@silvergiftingweek

__________________

Non-betaed fic under cut, will edit post sometime later, probably will post to AO3 later as well.

Unfortunately due to uni I haven't been able to participate in this as much as I would have liked.

Hope you'll enjoy my work!

Warnings: Allusion to violence but mostly vague? Tell me if you think i ought to add another.

How odd it was, that he kept the scar across his sternum. 

It was an oblong starburst shape, pink skin puckered and occasionally white, other scars long and thin laid on top. It was the size of a hand, stretching and claiming. 

Celebrimbir had purposefully kept all his scars before Sauron’s betrayal, even the ones he gained during his reign as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil. All the burns from forge accidents, the fumbling of a knife or two, the accidental broken bones or burns or stray exploding metal from experiments gone wrong. 

It all held memory, memory of the bad, the good, of the naive and foolish or the learned and understanding. 

He couldn’t wear jewllery, at least, not the amount he once wore as proud lord of the golden city, teeming with promises of more. Certainly no rings, too many uncertain memories and broken promises and trust. Stone he wore proudly as if it was some great rare jewel to the bafflement of everyone outside of previous mebers of Ost-in-Edhil. Even his own family could not fully understand his care and dedication for the art of stones. 

It meant something to him that they didn’t question his choices. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what the emotions were but it was somewhere in the range of appreciation and a weary understanding. 

They didn’t treat him as a child anymore, young and tagging along their adventures with short stubby legs, wide eyed and all innocence. They didn’t treat him as a young child or even a young adult, certain in his skills and voice. They never knew him as the lord of Ost-in-Edhil, beloved by all that dwelt within her once sturdy walls. The lord that hosted and welcomed all of any kind, elf, dwarf, human and other. 

The problem with that was they didn’t know how to treat him at all. 

They loved him, Celebrimbor had no doubt, but the years had gone by, stretching their already tenuous bonds. But it hurt him to see the heistance in their hugs, their kisses and affection. Even grandmother Nerdanel hesitated in hugging him, helping him braid his hair, and even the simple clap on the back or shoulder. 

Of all the things he missed of Sauron it was the easy touch and affection that flowed between them. 

Valinor, for all the paradise it was with no danger and plenty of things to do, people to talk with, crafts to learn and create, was stifling. It was like the whole world walked on eggshells when he entered, even old acquaintances were overly gentle and eager to please. Or rather they were the ones most akward. Very few of Ost-in-Edhil’s people could meet him eye to eye and talk as they once had. Even those within his venerated Gwaith-i-mirdain had doubts. Only Ithril, Kazforza and Fingrithil treated him normally. 

Everyone else talked in circles, making leaps and jumps to avoid talking about Ost-in-Edhil, his death and everything in the Second Age to his face. 

It was infuriating. 

It was hurtful and condescending and he deeply, deeply missed Annatar and the conversations they would have, taboo and casual, anything and everything, no thought filtered and halting.

He loved his family he did. Even with the awful deeds they had done, they sought a path forward to atonement, dragging themselves from the sea of blood that bathed them all cleaning themselves with the forgiveness of thise they wrobed and accpeting those who could not. Celebrimbor was proud of them beyond words found in any language, maybe save the one spoken by the Valar. 

“Tyelpe?” His eldest uncle’s voice called softly from the entrance to his bedroom. “Can I come in?”

“I’m alright,” Celebrimbor hastily said, rising to his feet. It took an immense effort to tear his eyes from the mirror, or more accurately the reflection of the scar on his sternum. It was not the largest scar he had kept, not by far really. He wasn’t sure why he kept some of the scars himself, marks from whips and burns from balrogs and that one that came from a furious and heartbroken elf who heated up his sword with the symbol of his house etched onto the pommel and burned it where his heart laid under skin, flesh and bone.

“A silmaril for your thoughts?” Maedhros’ voice was light but concern tinged it. 

“Come in, come in,” Celebrimbor ushered him in, realising he hadn’t actually answered Maedhros. “Nothing important, just thinking of the past.”

That earned him one of Maedhros' very unnerving stares. The one that felt like it looked into one’s feä and judged it. A little like how Manwë and Namo’s gaze had felt. But his uncle judged that Celebrimbor was alright, not lying and not about to have any sort of panic attack or flashback. It had happened a few times. 

With Celebrimbor and pretty much all of their family, save Nerdanel whose worst mood would be an oppressive sort of worry. 

She had not participated nor started the whole kinslaying afterall. 

“You’ve been off for the last couple of days,” Maedhros quietly remarked, looking out of the window, gazing at the setting sun and the garden that they all had built and grown together. It had been healing for his father and uncles, knowing that their hands were not restricted to the mastery of the blade. Feanor merely grumbled about dirt under fingernails which amused them as his work in the forge arguably dirtied them more. 

“You did not flinch nor mourn at Sauron’s defeat, nor did you hesitate in greeting the little Hobbits that have taken residence amongst us,” he continued, “your behaviour after the aforementioned events were predictable, nightmares and regrets dredged up but not wholly destructive to your healing.” 

Celebrimbor kept silent, hands frozen on the back of a chair. Maedhros stood, still gazing out the window. It was the stance he took as a soldier, a general, standing at attention all wound up. Now too, for Ages of habits drove him to. 

“And yet,” his uncle sighed, turning to face him, “here we after all of this, the Fourth Age of Men starting strong and continuing, all of us free and healing, Sauron finally defeated-” His remaining hand came to rest on his stump - “yet still there us something troubling you, something new.”

He turned to face Celebrimbor.

“What is wrong?” Maedhros asked.

Celebrimbor knew the last few days, nay, weeks had him behaving oddly, something making him restless and jumpy despite being perfectly at peace for more than half an Age.

“I-” he started saying before narrowing his eyes. “Wait, are you here by yourself or with the others?”

Maedhros shrugged. 

Sighing, Celebrimbor sprawled across his bed, mussing up the cleaned linen. 

Of course they all elected Maedhros to be the one to ask him. Of course they did.

Silence filled his room.

On one hand, he had no desire to talk today, let alone about the odd presence that perplexed him. On the other, he knew his uncle well; an unending well of patience and a keenness that rivalled Manwë’s eagles. His uncle would wait until Celebrimbor was comfortable to talk, no matter how long it took. A day, a week, maybe even a yen if he needed to. 

He sighed again. 

“There’s… something.” Celebrimbor at last admitted. Frustrated by his inability to give forth direct answers, he gestured angrily at the ceiling. “ I mean, what I meant was-”

He tried to organise his thoughts, to explain the taste lingering in the air, the presence that occasionally brushed past, soft and light like how a cat moves around a person. To explain the smell of ash and regret. To explain it wasn’t a bad smell but relieving in a way. To explain whenever he entered the forge it felt  like home, then a warning, then a deep set regret, then a gentle but hesitant nudge forward, a sort of controlled eagerness. A penance, an acknowledgement. 

To explain the utter soul crushing relief that he was back. 

Back and diminished and suddenly it all made sense.

“Oh,” Celebrimbor exhaled. “Oh.”

He could see in his minds eye how his uncle inclined his head out of confusion, the rustle of clothing as Maedhros adjusted his position and waited for an explanation.

What could Celebrimbor say?

Should he say anything?

The Valar should know. Or maybe they already did? No. No, the presence would be like a grain of sand on the sea shore. Diminshed as such to be on par or even less than a mere elf’s.

He distantly registered his uncle walking out from his room, closing the door with a soft click. Like all the doors in the house, the lock had been refitted so that it could only be locked from the inside and not out. 

Celebrimbor stayed there as Arien fell, and Teleprion replaced her golden light with a silver one. 

The presence never approached him within his room, he realised with a start. Nor when he was together with his family, any one of them. He sat there calcuating and recalcuating the effects of taking ones own soul and using it as a material to be harnessed. 

Theoretically some of the power would be lost in the process of the making. Even more would be at its unmaking, an explosion of sorts but how could you measure whats lost with a material that never had been used as a one in the first place? 

Wpuld it be categorised as a death? Could Ainur die? Or would it be a restructuring rather than a death? However to restructure something, does it not mean a part or whole of the previous would have to ‘die’ in some way? To make space for the changed. 

That led to the Ages debated question of the Ships and Celebrimbor could admit, although rather reluctantly, that he was not suited for those lines of thinking. It usually resulted in a headache.

Whatever reason the remnants of Sauron had in seeking Celebrimbor out, and staying, could only be found with the Dark Lord himself. Or ex-dark lord? The maia certainly hadn’t done anything yet but be arguably helpful and encouraging. He also didn’t think Sauron had any remaining power left, not if he bypassed all of Valinor unnoticed to come to Formenos. 

It was surprisingly easy enough of a decision, to escape from his bedroom through the open window and into the darkened forge; his grandfather had gone to bed after countless hours of needling by his grandmother, his father was away with Celegorm and Ambarussa on a hunting trip recently departed and not due to return in another week or so. Maglor and Caranthir were in Torion, hosted by Elrond and Celebrian for the next few days too, and Maedhros no doubt had gone to bed once he thought that Celebrimbor would stay in bed for the rest of the day and night. He might have rivalled Sauron in cleverness and strategy but with his family, his guard was unconsciously lowered enough.

Celebrimbor didn’t quite like the nagging notion that his father and uncles had decided their presence would hinder his healing and understanding. 

His bare feet were silent as he slipped into the forge, lighting only a single candle and placed in the corner where no light could be seen from outside and no smell of smoke or incense could be detected form inside the house. 

He waited.

First he waited standing, leaning against the wall and looking at the flickering candlelight, watching the shadows dance and twirl in faint light amongst the darkness of the forge. Then he slid down to kneel and meditate, closing his eyes but not his ears. 

After a few minutes and countless breaths, he registered the faintest brush against his feä. He kept steady, keeping his own feä from responding and reaching. Much like a cat, he thought in wry amusement though he allowed none to show on his fana. 

Soon it grew stronger, the barest brushes becoming more persistent and more present. It reminded him of how cats demanded attention, how they took to warm sunlight, fires or presences. He wondered how conscientious the action was on Annatar’s behalf. Sauron’s that is. 

Celebrimbor. 

At last, Celebrimbor thought. He smiled and responded sweetly, Sauron.

A pause and he could feel the other presence debate on what might have been called a tactical retreat. Or, since Celebrimbor was feeling rather ruthless as of now, cowardly flee.

He reached out to the maia and offered up a memory. A recollection of tangled feelings, of grief and mourning for a friend and foe, for longing of the presence of someone who finally, finally he felt harmony with. Who destroyed him as much as brought him to life. 

Sauron shrank from the echoes that stretched between them. A quiet but no less powerful, I’m sorry came forth from the unhoused spirit.

Celebrimbor wandered how many times Sauron had said that before and had genuinely meant it. He wandered how often he himself had longed to hear those words, to hear the acknowledgement that he, the all powerful maia supposedly better than all Elder, was wrong.

Victory tasted like bloodied dirt in his mouth, dry, coopery. Inescapable. 

I love you, Celebrimbor thought.

You loved me, Annatar corrected. 

Eru damned fool, Celebrimbor was going to find a way to give this formless spirit a void-damned fana if it meant he could punch him. 

And now he was wandering about the mechanics that allowed a fana to be operated. He sighed. Of course he would have the strangest and appealingly challenging ideas due to Sauron. 

I do not say things lightly; my choice of tenses was purposeful. Celebrimbor admonished. 

For a long moment he was sure Sauron had fled. 

Then the hint of utter confusion, horror and an unwanted relief touched his feä and he felt deeply, deeply satisfied.

Maybe it might have bordered on smug but he quite rightly deserved to.

Why?

Why not? He countered just to be contrary. 

Sauron snapped back, roiling tension and anger and something that seemed like so much hope it hurt. Tyelperinquar! I ripped and ground our home into the earth, I burnt our people, I tortured you-

Sauron shuddered, regret clear in his tone and feä, alongside a deep, deep longing that matched Celebrimbor’s own. 

Nothing can repair what hurt you have dealt, Celebrimbor remarked sharply, to you or ours. To the countless thralls and orcs that still suffer now. To my family and our friends. He softened. But that does not render what we once had and now could have moot. 

But why would you choose-

“Is it a choice?” Celebrimbor whispered out loud, disturbing the silence that had descended softly onto the forge and house. He opened his eyes and tilted his head to see the candleflame had petered out, the wick still slightly smoldering. 

He sighed, not feeling Sauron’s presence anymore. His back ached and he was cold.

Brilliant red hair caught Arien’s early rays. 

“That wasn’t directed at me, was it.” His eldest uncle remarked sitting crossed legged on the anvil.  

Celebrimbor yelped. 

[silvergiftingweek]

Day 4: Crafting @silvergiftingweek

[silvergiftingweek]

Phew, got one artwork done for @silvergiftingweek !

The art is NSFW so I've posted it on Ao3 but here's a little preview, there is a link to the art at the bottom of the page :)

This was so hard for me, this whole week I feel like I've been drawing blanks for any sort of silvergifting art but I am so happy to at least have Something done at last!

I didn't use any prompt, but that is my style when it comes to fandom event lol

This link should take you to it! If for some reason you don't end up on the right chapter, go to chapter eight ^^

[silvergiftingweek]

Silvergifting Week - Post Canon

I am so sorry.

@silvergiftingweek

(Original image under the keep reading thing)

[silvergiftingweek]

The Definition of Insanity

Last day. I can't believe the week is already over. I had a lot of fun participating and I hope everyone else enjoyed it.

Rating: Teen

Summary:

Mairon was perfectly fine with the uneven equilibrium he had found in the later ages of Arda. He has been granted leniency and a way to make up for his mistakes. He has his projects and his research. What more could he desire? Or at least, that's what he thought before a certain Noldorian prince quite literally ran into him and made him yearn for something he'd forced himself to forget.

“You didn’t know?” Fingon snorted sounding almost angry. “Everyone else’s back except for Feanor, his sons, and grandson. Even Miriel’s back.”

“They’re not going to be gone forever. Not if I have anything to say about it,” Fingon grounded out. “I will not let Maedhros vanish forever. I have things I need to say to him.”

"And surely you have things you need to say to Celebrimbor"

Read on AO3:

[silvergiftingweek]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Celebrimbor (Tolkien), Annatar (Tolkien), Sauron (Tolkien) Additional Tags: Second Age of Arda (Tolkien) Summary:

After injuring his hand, Celebrimbor is forced to take a hiatus from crafting. Annatar, the elvensmith’s mentor, comes to inquire of his student’s health, and takes the opportunity to speak of a clever scheme which would forestall the effects of Time and Change.

I wrote this story last year for @silvergiftingweek, but I didn’t post it because I was preparing for a trip that week. So at last I am posting the story this year.